


Present Tense

by Infini



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Mild Gore, Pre-Issue 37, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 09:55:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3286016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infini/pseuds/Infini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A slight hiccup sends Rodimus' time-travel team back to current-day Cybertron. But this isn't the present they remember: they find themselves faced with familiar names, and an unfamiliar punishment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Present Tense

It was a dark, dingy alleyway.  There was light filtering in from one end, from a singular street light, stationed some distance off. The dim yellow haze proved it was one of the low-quality varieties, most often found in places like the Dead End.  Everyone stood around for a few moments, recalibrating their optics to see more clearly.

“So… where are we?”

Tailgate was the first to speak up, optic band glowing brightly enough to illuminate a small part of the grimy wall nearby.

“More like _when_ are we,” Rodimus mumbled, picking up his self-titled ‘time phone’ and pushing the button.  “Perceptor, what’s going on?”

“The engines had a slight hiccup.”  He briefly considered asking if that was a technical term, but decided against it.  “It looks as though Brainstorm attempted another jump at the same time you did.  As the engines couldn’t handle the strain, it appears that you’re currently on the present-day Cybertron.”

“Present-day Cybertron?”

All the faces that had previously been watching him glanced around again, taking in the architecture.  It was rough-hewn to be sure, old and falling apart, but there was no reason to doubt its Cybertronian origins.  None of the wartime bases had been built up to this extent, which meant exactly what they thought it did.

“The engines will be ready again in no more than five minutes,” Perceptor continued.  “Please remain out of sight until then.”

“Got it.”

Rodimus turned off the phone, and looked at the group assembled around him.

“Perceptor says we’ve got to stay hidden, and I agree.  Everyone knows the Lost Light is in space right now; if someone sees us here, it’ll get really complicated, really fast.”

Whirl groaned loudly, but not even he protested the suggestion beyond that.

“We should move further from the streets,” suggested Riptide, glancing at the edge of the alleyway and fingering the trigger of his overly large gun.  “Just in case anyone walks by.”

It was a good suggestion, and the whole group slowly edged away from the light.  It wasn’t exactly pleasant, between the discarded empty cubes crunching underfoot and the flaked bits of wall panelling scattered along the edges.  They didn’t speak, or even look at one another much, until they were well away from anywhere that they might be overheard.

Chromedome kept a hand on Rewind’s shoulder as they walked.  They’d only just gotten the archivist back a few hours before, and it was understandable that he’d so far refused to be further than arm’s reach from him.

“Metroplex shouldn’t still be in this kind of condition.”  The mnemosurgeon’s visor dimmed slightly.  “Windblade and the other one, they’re supposed to be repairing him, right?  He was in rough shape, but this place is...”

“Dead,” Rewind murmured, still glancing around.  His camera was off, the telltale red light nowhere to be seen after having been thoroughly warned off from recording anything in the potential-past they were travelling through.  Their memories would have to suffice.

They’d reached a junction of sorts, a place where three buildings approached one another.  It wasn’t quite perpendicular, and one of the three alleys was far narrower than the other two, but the gap was large enough that all of them could gather together without rubbing shoulderplates.  There was a sliver of sky visible overhead, filled with sickly orange clouds that reflected the glow of city lights.  Obviously distant ones, if their current surroundings were anything to extrapolate from.

Rodimus had been about to open his mouth, when there was a noise from the alleyway to their left.  Whirl twisted around in an instant, weapon glowing ominously between his claws as he took aim at the source of the sound.

“Whirl, no!”

Rung jumped between them, grabbing at the heliframe’s arm and trying to pull the gun away from its target, but it didn’t fire.  In the darkness, a square of light had suddenly appeared, a cursor dancing across the surface as it spelled out a single word.

[HELLO]

No one moved as it lifted from its original position near the ground with surprising smoothness, rising to almost level with Rodimus’ head.  It stepped forward, slowly, with both arms held loosely at its sides.  They stared, as the body came into view, and there was more than one quiet click of plating pulling shut in horror as they realized what they were looking at.

The Cybertronian had no head.  In its place was a flat screen, scarcely thicker than a digit.  The corner of the casing had cracked, baring a few stray wires, but this kept in theme with the rest of their body.  Scuffed plating, scraped paint, and a few visible dents were among the least of the injuries on display.  Both hands lifted to show they were unarmed as the screen turned slightly, looking over every member of the group.  In spite of the lack of features, it seemed that the individual they were staring at was wholly capable of returning the gesture.

“...  Hi.”

Riptide spoke up, when no one else opened their mouth to reply.  He was still clutching his gun, but unlike Whirl, hadn’t bothered to lift it.  The screen tilted forward slightly in an obvious nod toward him, and the text previously displayed disappeared.

There was a small sound, at knee height.  He and everyone else glanced down at Rewind, who was completely still as he stared at the dingy green and grey frame.  The archivist’s fans had stalled.

Everyone was too distracted to see the screen-headed mech move.  One minute he was in the alleyway shadows, and the next he’d shoved past Rung and thrown himself onto the smaller mech.  Then Chromedome was yelling, grabbing at the attacker and trying to pull him off, before the rest of the group converged on them.  They nearly pried Rewind free, but the strange mech continued to fight, lashing out furiously as he tried to pull the archivist off the ground.  It was only after Cyclonus managed to wedge himself between the two, leaving Chromedome to practically wrap himself around his unmoving, unspeaking conjunx.

Even with the supremely intimidating warrior between them, the mech continued to reach out, fingers spread wide and raking the air in Rewind’s direction.

[SMALL]  
[YES]  
[SMALL]  
[YES]  
[SMALL]

The words repeated over and over across the screen, which somehow hadn’t cracked during the altercation.  Rodimus had one of the mech’s arms while Riptide held the other, leaving Cyclonus to stare at the message.  It was clear that he couldn’t make sense of it.

“Rodimus, what does-”

“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?”

An extremely familiar voice cut through the fracas, and everyone froze momentarily as another frame strode out from the opposite alley.  Unlike the one that had attacked them, it was small, but strode forward in what none present could see as anything but a battle-ready stance.  But it wasn’t his posture that drew their attention: his optical canals were empty, the edges blackened by scorching, on top of deep gouges that shone fresh and silvery.  There was no dried energon to show that the wounds were recent, but that didn’t take away from the horror of his condition.  Especially when coupled with the black insignia that arced beneath his nose, and down his chin.

“Minimus-?”

It came out as a whisper, before Rodimus could stop himself.  It was enough to make the mech pull up short, hands clenching into fists.  One of them, he noted, was already wrapped around a deadly-looking blade.

The perfect size to match those wounds.

“Who are you?”

In spite of his empty sockets, he too stared at all of them, and his posture made clear that he expected a fight.  His grip on the knife tightened when there was no immediate response, shoulders tensing as he prepared for a fight.

“How do you know my name?”

“We- we saw you on those old holovids.”

It was Tailgate who spoke up, peeking around Chromedome’s shoulder.  He stepped out from behind the mnemosurgeon, making himself more visible.

“You know, the vids...”  He trailed off, looking down then up again, twisting digits together with obvious uncertainty.  “Oh... They were for, um… what was it called?”

“The Primal Vanguard?”

“That’s it!”  The small mech chirped happily as Minimus supplied him with the answer.  More than one mech present realized exactly what Tailgate had done, and when the eyeless mech seemed to relax somewhat, so did everyone else.

“Answer the rest of my questions,” he said, though it was with less overt aggression and more wariness.  “And let go of my brother.”

“He attacked us,” Chromedome said immediately, sparing a glance at the screen-headed mech.  There was a split-second pause, before everyone repeated the gesture, optics growing noticeably wider.

“Your... brother?"

“Dominus wouldn’t attack anyone,” Minimus huffed dismissively, shifting his knife in his hand as he scowled.  “He doesn’t even know how to handle a weapon.  What is all this?”

The question wasn’t directed at them, but at the screen-headed mech still pinned in place.  His free hand still waved in the air, pointing in Chromedome’s direction.

[SMALL]  
[SMALL]  
[SMALL]

“What?”  It seemed that Minimus was just as much in the dark as the rest of them, though he took a step forward and pressed his mouthplates together.  “Explain yourself more clearly.”

[SMALL]  
[DARK]  
[LIGHT]  
[YES]  
[SMALL]

The digit wavered, shaking slightly even as Rodimus loosened his grip.  He was once again staring at the eyeless Minimus, who didn’t seem to notice.

“Do you mean this mech?”  He waved a hand at Tailgate, who glanced back and forth between them before slowly inching out of arm's reach.  “Small, light?”

“He means me.”

Chromedome tried to stop him, but Rewind pushed his way out of the crushing embrace, to stand on his own.  The screen-mech renewed his attempts to get free, but they were less violent and more distressed.  The hand shook more, following the archivist’s progress around his conjunx’s side, to where Minimus could see him.

[YES]  
[SMALL]  
[YES]  
[SMALL]  
[YES]

“You...”

The entire assembly was still, as though afraid to break the silence.  If it hadn’t been for the smaller mech’s empty optical canals, his eyes would have been comically wide.

“You’re a data slug.”

“Yes,” Rewind replied, even as Chromedome reached out and wrapped an arm around his back.  The mnemosurgeon still hadn’t gotten up off his knees, as though from fear that he might need to spring into action again at a moment’s notice.

“How-”  Minimus cut himself off, turning to stare around at the motley crew assembled in the alleyway.  His face was a mask of shock.  “You protected him?”

“Yes,” Chromedome said immediately, though no one but Rewind noticed how his fingers tightened against the archivist’s hip.

The silence grew, and no one really noticed that the mech they’d been restraining had begun to lean further forward, pulling Rodimus and Riptide along as he tried to reach for the small mech with the Autobot symbol on his back.

“His conjunx was a data slug,” the smaller mech finally answered, attention shifting slightly from the group to the restrained mech.  “He had special dispensation, but... it didn't matter, in the end.”

There was a murmured _‘I’m sorry’_ from Tailgate, but no one acknowledged it.  The air was still, and a creeping sort of cold had crept into the alleyways that had absolutely nothing to do with ambient temperature.

“Why are you here?”

Minimus’ question cut through their thoughts like a guillotine blade; sharp, heavy, and dangerous.  No one seemed quite certain how to answer, and more than one turned to the captain.

“We...”  Rodimus stared into the empty sockets, sure that the mech behind them could somehow still see, even if it wasn’t with visual feedback.  “We’re here to fix things.”

That was when the time phone went off.  One hand went to it automatically, leaving the would-be prisoner with fifty percent fewer restraints than before.  He promptly tipped forward, dragging Riptide into a collision with Cyclonus.

“Yeah?”

“The engines are ready.”  Megatron’s voice was almost, approaching, not quite, just barely, a welcome sound.  “You’d best hurry.”

“Got it,” Rodimus replied absentmindedly, shutting off the communicator without even a token attempt at a snappy reply.  Then he turned to his team.

“We have to go.”

They stood as one, Cyclonus shoving their former prisoner aside while Riptide took a moment to at least check and make sure the mech wasn’t too badly damaged.  There was another crack along the edge of the screen’s frame, but otherwise he seemed fully functional.  He still reached out for Rewind, who had been pulled up against Chromedome’s leg without discussion.

Vaguely, Rodimus noted that Whirl and Rung hadn’t moved from the wall they’d found themselves against when the mech had first charged at Rewind.  But now wasn’t the time to worry about the heliframe’s sudden lack of energy.

“Wait.”

Several heads turned to stare at Minimus, who was still standing at the entrance of the alleyway he’d emerged from.

“What are you going to fix?”

“Everything.”  It was Rewind who responded, quietly.  He looked between the two brothers, one blind, the other mute.  “All of this.”

“That’s a tall order,” Minimus said, without a hint of humour.  But he hesitated a moment, glancing over the archivist again. “... Good luck.”

Dominus’ screen, his face, remained blank for several moments, before he looked down at Rewind again.  This time he didn’t reach out, though he rocked back and forth as his weight shifted.

[SMALL]

“Goodbye,” said Rung quietly, bringing up the rear with briefcase in hand.  They disappeared into the alleyway, glowing optics slowly disappearing from view.  A bright flash of light cut through the darkness, but only one mech was able to see it.

[SMALL]

“Yes, yes, I know,” grumbled his brother, walking over in the mech’s direction.  Without turning his head, Dominus lifted one hand and placed it on Minimus’ shoulder, but the latter promptly brushed it off. “Now come on, I found some fuel.”

[SMALL]

The screen stared out blankly into the empty tunnel, one hand lifting, fingers spread.

[SMALL]  
[SMALL]  
[SMALL]


End file.
